Too Cold For Angels To Fly
by Sheblet
Summary: "Winter is Jane Rizzoli's own personal hell." Jane's first winter after Hoyt. Oneshot, established Rizzles.


Winter is Jane Rizzoli's own personal hell.

She can feel it lurking in the air, hovering just at the edges of the atmosphere before it makes itself known. Her hands only ache gently, and stretching her fingers gives her a bit of relief. It's not distracting – it is merely an extension of the daily ache she already feels. She moves on with life. Coffee, cases, Maura. Normal.

Winter comes.

It is sudden. She has just gotten used to the dull ache, has almost forgotten it. It is as if it has been lying in wait this entire time, ready to torture her at any moment. She wakes up one morning and it is like winter has arrived overnight – her room is too cold and her nose is running and her _hands –_

They have curled and clenched tightly in her sleep. She can't unclench them – it's like they've frozen this way, her muscles tight, the skin taut and white. So she goes to the bathroom and bumps the faucet with the side of one hand to start the hot water – she yelps each time she tests the water, its still cold temperature stinging. She cries a little as she runs her hands under the hot water, testing them and unfurling them and the pain is so immense –

Eventually, they relax, though the ache is still there, still severe. She refuses to take the drugs her physical therapist prescribed – nothing can hinder her work.

And she drives to the precinct, trying to keep her hands relaxed for fear they might curl around the wheel and never let go.

She buys coffee and doesn't drink it, instead curving her tingling palms around the warm cup, relishing in the way her pain melts away for only a moment.

"Got another body," Frost hurries in to tell her, throwing the keys to a cruiser her way. Normally, she'd catch them, but her hands are stiff and slow so she reaches and they bump her hands and fall with a jingling.

"Nice catch, Rizzoli," jabs Frost.

"Shut up," growls Jane.

She shoves her balled fists into her pockets, trying to shield them from both the frigid air and the gazes of her coworkers. Maura gives her a smile when she enters the crime scene. Her pain is momentarily forgotten in the light of it.

Jane's pain always fades in Maura's light.

She tosses and turns at night. The new pain dredges up memories better left forgotten – she dreams of him standing over her, of his hot, moist breath on her face as he whispers to her. She dreams of the scalpels in her upturned palms and wakes screaming, hands contorting and cramping.

She spends the rest of the night curled in a ball, too tired to sleep.

The next few days are a blurred mass of pain and pretending. She manages to pass as fine, joking with Frost and Korsak and cuddling with Maura without her hands clenching up or pain registering on her face.

But then Korsak catches her at her desk with her hands all balled up (she can't help it, it's the only position that hurts less) and scolds her.

"Janie, you shouldn't keep your hands all clenched like that, it'll only –"

He reaches for them, presumably to separate her fingers, and Jane immediately recoils, the pain that is sure to come momentarily blinding her with fear. So she jerks back, yelping out a strangled "_No!_"

Korsak looks startled, and she buries her hands in her lap to hide them from his gaze. "Okay," he says, and though he hasn't seen this reaction elicited from her in a long time, he is still used to it, still knows to back down. "Okay. I won't touch them."

"Thanks," Jane mumbles awkwardly, looking down.

At the end of the day Jane's whole body feels exhausted. The pain has increased to a nearly intolerable level, and her stomach feels queerly empty and nauseated at the same time, her body trembling. She feels light, dizzy. Lack of sleep and the tingling, stabbing discomfort has her feeling sick.

"Jane," says a voice that causes immediate relief in the detective. She turns and faces a worried-looking M.E.

"Maura," she sighs in response.

"Vince tells me your hands are bothering you," Maura says calmly, eyes now trained on the appendages in question. They are balled up again, and Jane tries to quickly unclench them so Maura won't notice, but her fingers lock up and she jumps and hisses at the twinge it elicits. "It's the cold, isn't it?" Maura continues.

Her words have an immediate effect on Jane, who almost instantly deflates, sagging, shoulders hunching. "Uh-huh," she finally admits, voice small and childlike, and she feels her face crumbling.

"Oh," gasps Maura, a mixture of surprise and sadness. "_Oh. _Come here." She pulls Jane in close and Jane lets her, melting into the embrace. She doesn't cry, per say, just exhales a few times, small huffs of release causing strands of Maura's hair to flutter upwards and settle again.

"Let me see," Maura murmurs as she pulls away, and Jane raises her twisted, trembling hands, their skin bloodless.

"Oh, Jane," she sighs, and for a moment she's the doctor and Jane's the stubborn patient. "Haven't you been doing your exercises? The ones your physical therapist gave you?"

Jane's face heats and she feels sick and sad and in pain and this isn't fair. "They didn't work," she chokes, trying for defensive and only managing despondent, and Maura immediately softens again as she realizes the full extent of the state Jane is in.

"Okay," Maura comforts, rubbing Jane's shoulder. "Of course you did. I'm sorry." Jane nods, composing herself and swiping the back of one crooked hand under her nose, sniffling.

"Leave your car here tonight. I'll drive you home." At this point, Jane hardly has the energy in her to drag her feet, let alone argue, so she just nods her agreement and lets Maura guide her to her own car, an arm snug around the detective's shoulders.

It turns out "home" is actually Maura's house, but this hardly affects Jane.

The first thing Maura does is make Jane shower. She insists it will make Jane feel better, and though the detective is exhausted, she complies. It's a slow, painful process, but when she's finished her body does feel more relaxed. She exits the bathroom in a BPD sweatshirt and basketball shorts to find Maura in the guest room, fumbling with a cord at the outlet.

The next step in Maura's process is to uncurl Jane's hands – even unclenched, they still remain slightly curved, so Maura gently straightens each finger. Jane whimpers a bit but otherwise remains silent.

Next, her hands are wrapped in a flannel scarf, so soft and warm that Jane wishes it was a whole blanket so she could wrap her entire self in it.

"Lie down," Maura gently prompts, and Jane does, curling her body, knees drawn up, hands tucked to her chest. Maura pulls them slightly away from Jane's body to cover them with a heating pad, and Jane feels a sudden lump in her throat at the sweet relief.

"Thank you," she whispers emotionally, looking Maura in the eyes.

"Of course, Jane."

"Lay with me?" Jane requests, not wishing to be alone.

"I was hoping you'd ask," Maura beams, and she climbs in behind Jane, taking on the role of "big spoon" for once. Jane sighs, and soon, Maura thinks her to be asleep.

But she realizes she is wrong when Jane becomes tense against her. "Relax," she murmurs stroking Jane's arm. "Sleep."

"Don't wanna."

Maura finds this hard to believe. "Why not?"

"Scared." Jane is fighting a losing battle, slipping swiftly into unconsciousness.

"Of what?"

"Nightmares." Jane's voice is slurred as she fights off sleep.

"Oh Jane." Maura curls tighter around her, wrapping Jane's whole body in an embrace. "Don't be scared. I'm here."

And indeed, Jane's pain fades in Maura's light.


End file.
